I used to read self-help books.
I’ve read some very useful ones too.
I particularly like Shakti Gawain’s Living in the Light, where I learned that reality is what you make of it; or it’s all about your own perspective.
And there’s another one, that I can’t remember the title or author, but what I learned was how to deal with problems –
1) Recognize the problem.
2) Is there anything you can do about it.
- a) If not … stop worrying about it, there’s nothing you can do.
- b) If there is … identify what you can do about it.
(i) Decide if you are willing to do what is necessary
(ii) If you are willing – do it.
(iii) If you aren’t willing – stop worrying about it because you aren’t willing to do what is necessary (no guilt or shame – it’s your choice, and you are deciding to live with whatever the consequences are).
I have found this immensely useful over the years.
Now I’m a fat OLD lady, I cannot bring myself to read self-help books.
There is usually at least one offered for a great price on my daily BookBub e-mail.
But, let’s face it.
If I really wanted to change, I’d have done it years ago, when I would have lots of time to enjoy the benefits of that change.
Besides, I’m pretty fucking happy with who I am – except …
I am one lousy housekeeper.
As I’ve said before, I am my mother’s child:
“You can put your name in the dust, just don’t put the date.”
My grandmother, who I take after a lot, was a great housekeeper. She made it seem effortless. Of course, I now realize, she did her cleaning while I was at my job.
Also, she had a whole basement to hide her excess clutter in.
My mom had a whole basement too (and a much larger house, plus a big cedar-lined room out in the garage, for clothing), but my mom’s excess clutter was mostly actually crap – tons of old magazines she was never going to look at, lots of clothes that were no longer wearable by anyone in our house.
I live in a tiny house with my husband, and I have enough clutter to rival my mother’s. Although, I’m a little better about weeding out crap from time to time.
What I really want is a self-help book that isn’t written by some sweet young thing full of vim and vigor and with their whole life ahead of them.
I want one written by a crabby old person who is tired, tired, tired; and really doesn’t give a shit about what other people think, on how to get the maximum amount done with the least amount of effort.
Now that would be helpful.
One thought on “THIS FAT OLD LADY’S ALL ABOUT ME MONDAY – GETTING TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT”
I’ll second that! 🙂